


All Our Yesterdays

by sheron



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Compliant, Concussions, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, POV Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Endgame spoilers!Tony and Steve travel into the past and find hope for the future.(Look, canon blessed us with the setup for a concussion and I am merely a grateful conduit.)





	All Our Yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanasekei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/gifts).



> This is some unrepentant clichéd h/c, where I pick up the thread that Tony got hit in the head by a Hulk and run with it. The title is from Macbeth.
> 
> I originally intended the fic for nanasekei's birthday, but didn't quite make it. Here's hoping it works as a belated gift. Happy Birthday, El!

 

They make it around two more city blocks before Tony stops with a hand on the side of a concrete building. Steve feels him pause without even looking — his eyes are scanning all the nooks and crannies of the Manhattan back street warily, on high alert — and he turns with a concerned, "Tony?" 

"Yeah, uh." Tony's breath is shaky and he's pale as a sheet, eyes fixed on the cracks in the pavement like a lifeline when his world is spinning. "Just need a moment."

A brand new thread of concern winds itself through Steve. "What is it?"

Tony makes a complicated expression as if he doesn't want to be admitting it, but there's a new bond of honesty between them that seems to compel him even so. "Head's killing me."

Steve comes closer, one hand in motion, but he stops himself before he can set it on Tony's shoulder. He can't rush this. Baby steps. "You've got a concussion?" he asks instead, clenching the hand at his side.

"No," Tony is quick to denial. Then, he winces. "Maybe. Yeah. You try getting knocked out by the Hulk." 

"...You actually lost consciousness?"

"Only for like two seconds," Tony assures him defensively, brown eyes wide. "I'm good. I can go. Let's walk." 

Steve presses his lips together and factors the new information into his plans. Somehow, in his head they were going to _walk_ to New Jersey, and on his own he'd have made the journey easily enough, but even as Tony takes more shaky steps down the alley, reluctantly letting go of the wall he'd been leaning on, Steve knows it's a foolish plan. If anything they're doing now can even be called a plan. They're firmly into the improvisation territory: much more Tony's speed than Steve's. He's okay with it though. Hope and adrenaline courses through his veins. A small, tightly-wound part of him wants to take off and _run_ ; somehow he believes Tony would try to follow, and isn't that amazing?

But that's not what Tony needs from him, so he tempers himself. "We should find a place to stop and rest. Stash this." Steve motions towards the plain beige leather case in his hand where they hid the shield. 

Tony had finagled some sort of a contraption that acted as the period's charge card and they made off with enough seventies currency from a rare ATM at one of the bank branches to last them for a few days. He also bought Steve clothing at a nearby thrift store — a plain white t-shirt and khaki pants — so Steve wouldn't be walking around Manhattan in his Captain America outfit, as well as a battered old briefcase that looked like it belonged to a starving art student for the shield. He also got aviator shades to cover Steve's face a little. He'd even brought Steve a strawberry slurpee for a snack, which makes Steve consider with some guilt that he had thought nothing of Tony himself not eating at the time. Steve had been relying on Tony entirely since they'd jumped into the seventies a couple of hours ago, being limited from helping while keeping his too-recognizable appearance out of sight, but it's his turn now.

"Let's get a hotel room. We'll get some sleep, and set out for New Jersey early morning."

Displeased, Tony walks faster. " _Don't_ try to coddle me—"

"Tony." Steve calls firmly from behind. With a weary sigh, Tony stops and waits for the rest without turning to face him. "I'm not walking onto a US Military base with my shield. We've got time. Let's do this right."

"Time's about the only thing on our side," Tony grumbles, but acquiesces and turns back to Steve, waiting for him to catch up. They keep walking down the alley side-by-side.

Steve looks at the road ahead. "Gonna need some kind of IDs to get on the base."

Tony points at his own chest with a thumb. "Or, I put on the suit, fly there at night, get our stuff."

"Someone will see you."

"Not if I see them first," Tony says with a rakish smile, but it's not a serious solution. They can't afford to interfere with this timeline too much; they owe it to the people here to stay hidden and only get what they came for. "I can be stealthy," Tony offers next, somewhat petulantly, as if he knows Steve will protest.

" _You_ can fall out of the sky with that concussion."

"I know my limits!"

"Yeah, okay," Steve says, doubtful, but heading this off at the onset. "I'm still coming with you."

Tony shoots him a side-glance. "Together, huh," he says and it's half-questioning wonder.

"You got it."

The next moment finds them smiling stupidly at one another.

"Okay."  


 

* * *

 

Tony is weaving a little as they climb to the second floor and find their room, on the second floor of a four-story brick-and-mortar boutique hotel. Since he'd obviously rather literally crawl than be carried, Steve just walks behind him, trying not to worry too overtly, but it's hard. After so long missing Tony, and all those years spent apart, having him around to worry _about_ is heady. It leaves Steve out of sorts, even though he tries to manage his expectations. They've been good, together, working through each problem so far with an inspiring harmony, but Steve can't relax. It could all go sideways at any moment; it's gone that way before. So he's vigilant and he is quiet, trying to anticipate the threat before it comes; trying to be ready.

In the hotel room, Tony takes a quick look at the two large beds and goes to collapse on one of them, laying on his back, his feet still on the ground. The room is what Steve's come to think of as old-fashioned, yellowing paper with a pattern of flowers on the walls, wooden furniture and dark blue curtains matching the bed-covers, but it looks clean and well-maintained. He sets his shield in the briefcase next to the bed and considers what to do next.

"I'm sorry," Tony says quietly from his spot on the nearby bed.

"What for? This stop is necessary—" Steve is ready to put things right in case Tony has any doubts about him holding them back.

"Not that." Tony flaps a hand weakly from the bed. "I never— I know what it must feel like, now, to be out of your time." He stares at the ceiling, voice gone soft. "I knew in my head it had to be hard, but I had no idea... The thought that I might never see Morgan again makes me want to hurl."

Steve clenches a fist at his side. Tony losing his daughter is out of the question. Of all of them, he's found something to live _for_. "We'll find a way back." 

"I know." Tony finally turns his head to look at him, blinking slowly. "But even _knowing_ that, still. Now I get it. I don't know how you made it through, feeling like this," the look in his eyes is endless sympathy. He whispers, "Like your world is gone."

Steve lowers his eyes for lack of anything to say. "Had friends to help me," he put out there eventually, and glances up to see what Tony thinks about that.

He must say the right thing, because Tony's pinched expression eases and a hint of a smile breaks out on his lips. They stare at one another for a second too long, before Tony looks away and clears his throat. He seems poised to say something, and in the awkward silence that lingers, the weight of unspoken words settles quietly like a shroud around them.

"We should sleep, make an early morning of it," Steve pronounces, and stands up. "Want the first shower?"

Tony hmms, eyes closed now as he lies there resting. "You go."

Steve studies him for a moment, a little nagging voice saying that the lethargy he's seeing from the man isn't right — Tony's head must really be hurting him — but there's not much he can do at the moment, so he goes to the small dated bathroom to wash up and closes the door. He doesn't think he spends long in the shower, but when he comes out, Tony's curled over on the side, still dressed, face buried in the pillow. He can't be asleep like that, and his shoes aren't even off, but he doesn't move when Steve walks past his bed to sit on his own.

"Bathroom's free."

"Nggght."

Steve cuts a look his way, but Tony doesn't move from his fetal position.

"I can run out try to find pain killers," Steve offers in a quiet voice after some time observing him in silence.

"Everything's closed," Tony mumbles, which is a testament to how much pain he's in that he doesn't even try to argue.

"Would a warm shower help?" Steve tries to prod him. Warmth is good for headaches, isn't it? Or is it cold compresses? Steve has no idea, and a swell of helplessness rises in his chest.

"I'm fine," Tony responds, which is when Steve realizes things are quite serious.

He gets off his bed and crouches down in front of Tony, frowning. "Hey, look at me."

Tony huffs quietly and doesn't move, except maybe to turn his face a bit further into the pillow.

Steve carefully sets a hand on his elbow, slow so as not to startle him and squeezes through the clothing. "Tony."

Tony opens one bleary eye and tries to focus on Steve. 

"Let me check your pupils." 

Tony finally turns to face him. He's got the look in his eyes of a lost kitten, miserable from the pain. It's utterly disarming and Steve's not sure if Tony knows its effectiveness. He must never know. Steve studies his pupils, one of which is double the size of the other. He leans back.

"Yeah, you've got a concussion."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Tony snarks without any heat in it. He wraps his arms around his own middle and just looks at Steve, like Steve can fix this. The helplessness crests in a wave, and Steve takes a little short breath to calm himself, keeping everything off his face so he won't worry Tony unnecessarily.

"Maybe we should go to a hospital."

Tony rolls his eyes and immediately winces. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we've only got each other, here. I can't risk anything happening." _To you._ Steve doesn't add that last part but it hangs clearly in the air. He tries to run through the list of concerning symptoms of a concussion in his head. "Still feeling nauseous?"

"Only because your hovering is making me dizzy."

"Yeah, okay." Steve matches his exasperated tone. "Can you get up?"

"Yeah," Tony says, eyes closed. "Give me a minute." He stays laying down. Steve watches him for a moment more before making a decision.

Dragging Tony to a hospital is a last resort; he'll take it if he has to, but for now there are other things he can do. He goes for Tony's shoes. As he unties the laces and pulls them off, he feels Tony's eyes on him and the pressure of that stare is strangely comforting. He pulls his black socks off too. Tony undoes the fastenings of his pants and Steve pulls them off his legs by tugging. The whole while the silence in the room is a mix of comfortable intimacy and Steve holds back any wise-cracks about what he is actually doing — helping Tony undress — for fear of pushing things a little too far. He doesn't want to take this anywhere Tony doesn't want to go himself. So he swallows things down and keeps his hands steady and unobtrusive.

Tony gets himself into a sitting position and with obvious difficulty starts to unzip his jacket to pull it off, sluggish in his movements. Steve ends up helping him with it. It's like Tony's body isn't as coordinated as usual, and his hand gets stuck in the sleeve of his jacket, so Steve sets one knee on the side of the bed and goes to help. At some point as he's tugging Tony's sleeve off, leaning over the other man to reach his back, he feels Tony put his face against his upper chest, next to the shoulder. Steve freezes. He can hear his own breaths echo shocked and loud in his ears. After Tony notices his stillness, he mumbles, "What, this is not a hug. I'm just resting my head."

Carefully, Steve wraps his other free hand around Tony's shoulders, holding him lightly against himself. "Lean into me," he murmurs and Tony just does it and stays there, half pressed against him, while Steve pulls the jacket off completely. Tony is left with only a thin black t-shirt underneath. After, even though the task is done, Steve keeps his body completely still.

Tony moves back a moment later. "Okay, well, I should probably get some sleep." He doesn't meet Steve's eyes. They don't discuss it.

"Get under the covers."

"Yes, boss, Captain, sir." Steve ends up helping him crawl under the sheets. The area on Steve's chest where he'd felt Tony pressed against him burns with the memory of it, his hands clench and unclench with a feeling he can't name. Some desperate need to make this better, do it right this time. He goes to the bathroom and soaks one of the white fluffy cotton hand towels under the cold stream of water, then gets back to Tony and offers him the cold compress for his head. 

With how eagerly Tony accepts it, Steve thinks he should have thought of it earlier. Tony actually lets out a small groan when he places the cold wet compress against his forehead. Slowly, he seems to relax. Later, Steve soaks the compress again and changes it for him, brushing aside the dark strands of hair as he places it on Tony's forehead.

At some point between one breath and the next, Steve feels that Tony conks out for the night. Steve doesn't sleep a wink. At first he just sits on his bed and watches him, thinks about what came before. Then after a while, the energy running through his body makes it hard to sit still and he has to move, so he drops down to the floor and does push-ups. He thinks maybe Tony wakes up at one point, he rolls over with a soft sigh, but when Steve lifts his head, Tony's eyes are closed and he's out again. Steve returns to his quiet exercise. He keeps thinking: _tomorrow will be better_. The thought, more than that, the _knowing_ , fills him with wonder. For too long, he hadn't been able to think like that at all, as much as he forced himself to keep going. Tony coming back to the Compound and to the team changed that. It's as if an invisible vice that's had a grip on Steve's chest all this time is loosened and he can draw in a proper breath again. The urge to run that seemed to live permanently under his skin subsides. He's fine exactly where he is, for as long as it takes.

Some time around the crack of dawn pinking on the horizon, as Steve is looking out through the window onto the streets that are beginning to wake up, he realizes he is smiling.

"I hate morning people," Tony's voice echoes in the stillness of the room and Steve whips his head around to see him roll slowly out of bed. Tony palms around for his pants, laid out at the foot of the bed, and starts to drag them back on in sloppy movements. Then, his eyes fall on the untouched bed and quickly flicker to Steve with a questioning look.

Steve shrugs, a smile still playing on his lips. "Couldn't sleep." To his enormous relief, some colour is back on Tony's cheeks. Steve walks over and hands him his jacket and if their fingers brush, then neither of them flinch because it's all okay. The new normal is that he can be this close with Tony without walking on egg-shells. It's everything. It's a precious opportunity he won't squander. "How's your head?" 

He sees Tony still slightly at the soft notes in Steve's question. He knows he is giving himself away and doesn't care. Let Tony read him, let him _know_ how much being here means to Steve. The only thing he cares about is that Tony is with him and they've got a hope for the future. They'll figure out how to get the Space stone and they'll return back to their friends. Besides, if they don't, Nat will travel back in time just to kick both their asses.

"I'm reconsidering getting it removed," Tony answers slowly, giving him another steady look. "Though seriously," he says, like it's a personal affront that he doesn't already know exactly what's going through Steve's head, "what are you smiling about?"

"My second chance, right here." Tony's eyes widen, locked with Steve's. "I'm not gonna waste it."

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr post is [here](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/184650617114/all-our-yesterdays-fandom-mcu-rating-g).


End file.
